


In the Presence of the Angels

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 07, Angst, Cutting, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4569669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They're multiplying like damned rabbits out there,” Bobby grumbled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Presence of the Angels

Even as the final word left his lips, Bobby found himself with the tip of an angel blade pressed to his throat, the angel himself looming over him in full 'protect Dean' mode. Peering past Castiel's shoulder, he saw that Dean was holding Ruby's knife at the ready, and the wooden spoon in Sam's hand had been replaced with a handgun.

Not so unprepared as he had thought, then. Not quite the carefree imbeciles he had believed them to be. Good.

“Either skewer me, or put that thing away,” he growled, answering Castiel's fierce glare with a scowl of his own. His thumb hitched back the way he'd come. “The real enemy's out there if you're spoiling for a fight. Forty or fifty of the bastards at a guess.”

Castiel blinked and took a step back towards Dean, his sword still drawn, but pointed now at the floor.

Bobby's gaze skittered from face to face, registering nothing but honest looks of surprise. “You didn't know,” he said, the façade of anger he wore melting away, leaving him bathed in a cold sweat.

“I patrol every hour on the hour,” Sam said. “No one was there when I last checked – ” He glanced at his watch. “ – thirty-five minutes ago.”

“And you sensed nothing?” Bobby turned to the angel.

“No,” Castiel replied, his sword magically vanishing back to wherever it was he stored it when it wasn't in use. “But, then, I am scarcely running on full power.”

“Forty or fifty angels?” Dean mused. “That's a shitload of dicks. They didn't challenge you, Bobby?”

“They didn't say a word,” Bobby said flatly. “They just stepped aside and let me pass. Why would they do that?”

“Because you are not the one they seek,” Castiel replied. “They have come for me.”

 _“You?”_ Dean exclaimed.

“What do they want with you?” Sam frowned.

“I... er... I may have deserted my post.”

“You _may_ have?” Bobby said wryly.

“I deserted my post. Just as Stheno's demon horde approached the Gates of Heaven.”

“Christ!” Bobby bellowed. “What the hell would make you do that?”

“Dean,” Castiel replied, shrugging. “He was in danger.”

“You could call being up close and personal with a Gorgon being in danger,” Dean joked.

“This isn't funny, Dean.”

“Aw, come on, Cas. It's a little bit funny. They sent a whole platoon to retrieve you? You're totally badass, man. You've got them pissing their pants out there.”

“As colourful an image as that might be,” Castiel said, sighing, “the fact remains that I am but one angel. An underpowered angel at that. Not that they know my energy is currently depleted. They are simply being prudent, given my recent history. I strongly suspect that this 'platoon' is but the first wave of angels.”

Sam slipped past Bobby to peer out the window. “You got that right, Cas. There must be a couple hundred of 'em out there now.”

“Fuck!” Dean exclaimed, any trace of humour fading as he joined his brother at the window. “Okay, okay,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I have a plan.”

“This is no time for one of your half-assed schemes, Dean.”

“Half-assed?” Dean protested. “I can't believe you said that, Sam. After I orchestrated the whole Gorgon deal?”

“You watched _Clash of the Titans._ Seventeen times!”

“Oh, that's so not fair. I researched my ass off.”

“ 'Let them know men did this', ” Sam sneered.

“You've never heard of a battle cry? It's epic! Inspiring!”

“It represents the kind of rash stupidity I'm talking about. You always dive in head first without thinking things through.”

“I do not!”

“ 'I can give you Crowley', ” Castiel murmured.

“What?” Dean spun on his heel, turning from his shouting match with Sam to face the angel.

“ 'I can give you Crowley', ” Castiel stated more loudly, his voice vibrating with anger as he spoke the demon's name. “Give. Her. Crowley. Dean, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I could save your life,” Dean hollered. “I was thinking the world could go to hell as long as I have you. I was thinking _I love you,_ you son of a bitch.”

Complete and utter silence greeted this heated outburst. Dean's head was up, his nostrils flaring, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. His chest heaved as he tried to bring his raging emotions back under control. This. This right here was why he avoided chick flick moments at all cost. He didn't need this crap. Didn't need to feel peeled raw and then rolled in salt to boot.

With several quick strides, Castiel crossed the room and wrapped Dean in his arms. “I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I would do the same for you. I would die a hundred times over that you might live. I love you, Dean. I _love_ you.”

Slowly, Dean's fists unknotted, and he brought his arms up to return Castiel's embrace.

“If you're quite finished with your tantrums, children,” Bobby grumbled, “may I suggest we get back to discussing the angels in my yard. They're multiplying like damned rabbits out there.”

“What's your plan, Dean?” Sam said.

It was as close to an apology as he was going to get from his brother, and Dean accepted it as such. With a final squeeze, he released Castiel and stood tall: shoulders back, his jaw set with grim determination.

“We carve a sigil on my chest and I stroll out there and banish the lot of them.”

Dean couldn't say the chorus of “No, Dean!” this proposal received came as any great surprise.

“Hear me out,” he said. “Cas can't do it – he'd be banished along with the others. Bobby's too – ”

“Don't say old,” Bobby warned.

“ – short,” Dean continued smoothly.

“And I'm too tall, I suppose.” Sam said.

“Exactly,” Dean nodded. “Which makes me the logical choice. ”

“You realize how stupid your reasoning is?”

“Doesn't matter. I'm doing it, and that's that. So make yourself useful, Sam. Grab me a bottle of something to dull the pain. Cas...” Dean held out Ruby's knife. “You do the honours.”

“No,” Castiel replied. “That's not happening, Dean. Not as a first option, anyway.”

“You have a better plan?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I'm going to open that door – ”

“Like hell you are!”

“ – and I'm going to ask them what they want.”

“But, Cas – ”

“Dean, whether or not the door is open, so long as I don't set foot outside, the wards protect me. Don't you think we should try establishing a dialogue before adopting extreme measures?”

“It makes sense when you put it like that,” Dean admitted reluctantly. “But that doesn't mean I have to like it. If you're wrong about the wards...”

“I'm not wrong. I crafted each and every one with infinite care. My brethren cannot harm me or this building, nor can they coerce me to leave.”

“Okay, then.” Dean sighed. “Plan B it is. We open the damned door.”

“Diplomacy.” Sam nodded approvingly. “It's worth a shot, especially given the odds against us. Lead the way, Cas. We're right behind you.”

“Uh-uh,” Dean demurred, his hand shooting out to grasp the angel's forearm. “We're not going out there empty handed. There are extra angel blades in the panic room. I'll go get them. Cas, you check and double check the warding before you even think of opening that door. Bobby, Sam, hit the books. See if you can find anything we can use to repel an angel army. I don't expect miracles, but something might pop out at you. We'll meet back here in ten... no, make it fifteen minutes.”

  


~*~

  


Bobby had started collecting angel-related texts shortly after Castiel (and his less welcome siblings) had burst into their lives. That collection had grown over the years, though it still was contained on a single shelf. He had long ago accepted that huge gaps of knowledge remained, and many aspects of Heaven's warriors would forever remain incomprehensible to the human mind. Still, there was no harm in having a quick look through a few pages...

Unfortunately, as expected, there was nothing of use to be found in any of the musty, old tomes. The internet also offered no quick and easy solutions.

“Looks like we've hit a dead end.” Bobby sighed.

“Maybe if we had more time...” Sam closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair. “That's an option, you know. We don't have to do this today.” 

“Can you imagine Dean having the patience to wait?” Bobby cast a glance at his wristwatch. “Twenty minutes. I'm surprised he gave us this long to work in peace.”

“Yeah, we'd better get back out there before he starts whining. Maybe he and Cas have been brainstorming.”

“If that's what you kids are calling it these days,” Bobby said with a snort.

“Oh, God,” Sam chuckled. “I know. They're worse than horny teenagers – can't keep their hands off each other for more than five minutes. Be prepared to cover your eyes, Bobby.”

But when they entered the kitchen, only Castiel was there, fully dressed and doing a final, meticulous inspection of the sigils which guarded the door. He turned as Sam and Bobby's footsteps sounded, alerting him to their presence, and cast an expectant look over their shoulders. 

“Where's Dean?” he said.

  


~*~

  


It took a third of a bottle of Jack Daniels to bring the pain down to a manageable level. Even so, each slice of the knife burned like the fires of Hell. Sweat beaded on his brow, and dripped into his eyes. He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall and kept cutting, alternating precise incisions with careless swigs of whiskey. Finally, it was done. The lines weren't inscribed nearly as neatly or deeply as he would have liked, and the design was slightly off-centre, but the requirement of blood was more than adequately met. The sigil would serve its purpose.

Dean glanced at his watch. Less than five minutes to spare. 

He left his T-shirt draped over the back of a chair, electing to wear only his plaid flannel. He winced as he slid his arms into the sleeves, the movement cruelly stretching his abused flesh. Reaching over for the bottle hurt too, but he deemed it a necessary evil, and took one last hurried swallow before firmly setting it aside. Instead of buttoning his shirt, he just crossed it across his chest and loosely tucked it in his jeans. To conceal the blood seeping through the fabric, he put on his jacket. Hopefully, it wouldn't soak through that too.

The spare angel blades he left on the table, next to the bottle of Jack. He wouldn't need them. The idea was to project an aura of harmlessness for as long as possible. The closer he got to the epicentre, the more angels he'd take out. With any luck, he'd get them all.

Dean peeked out of the panic room door before heading up the stairs. He ghosted his way down the hall, pausing now and then to listen for the others: Castiel's footsteps creaked the floorboards over his head, passing from their shared bedroom to the bath; the low rumble of Sam and Bobby's voices drifted from the library. There was no one in the kitchen to stop him.

Dean eased the door open a crack and stepped outside.

 _Damn!_ he thought, as he turned around from quietly closing the door.

In the brief time since he had last looked, hundreds had become thousands. Angels stood shoulder to shoulder in Bobby's dooryard; in uncounted droves they flowed down the driveway, crowded the scrapyard, spilled into the surrounding fields...

The collective weight of their judgemental eyes was almost unbearable: a physical thing that made his shoulders curve in on themselves in an attempt to make him a smaller target.

Dean took one step forward, then a second, and a third.

As they had for Bobby, the sea of angels parted for him, leaving a narrow pathway with a single angel standing in wait at the gauntlet's end.

Dean's heart was tap dancing in his chest; his breath came in quick pants, and goose bumps prickled all over his skin. Very much aware that his fight-or-flight instinct was nearing its limits, he picked up his pace, eager to bring this kamikaze mission to an end. To help keep himself focused, he kept his eyes locked on the angel standing dead ahead. His eyes took in every detail of the vessel: the balding head, the cauliflower ears, the pig-eyed stare. He looked like Zachariah's older, uglier brother. And, like his predecessor, it was all too clear he had no sense of humour, no modicum of compassion. Dean hated him on principle. It would be a pleasure to blow this bastard away.

He was within a few yards of accomplishing this goal when two angels suddenly advanced upon him, one from either side, and clasped his arms in grips of steel.

Yet another angel came forward, a pretty little blonde in her late teens who probably could snap him in two without even trying. A perky ponytail bobbed on her shoulder as she leaned in to part his jacket and shirt, revealing the banishing sigil in all its gory splendour. Without comment, she passed a hand across his chest, a familiar, tingling warmth following in its wake. When she was done, she melted back into the crowd, and the two male angels released their hold on his arms.

Dean took his time buttoning up his shirt. Partially, this was to stall for time while he tried to formulate a new plan, but the annoyance factor was not to be denied. More than a few of the angels began to fidget. The one he had been making his way towards actually took a few steps forward. It was a minor victory to be sure, the angel conceding ground, but at this point he'd take anything that could be tallied in the plus column.

“Dean Winchester,” he declared eventually, sauntering the final few steps and holding out his hand.

Naturally, the angel declined to take it. Instead he looked Dean up and down from head to toe, assessing him as coldly as he might a bug.

“You are the Righteous Man, Castiel's chosen mate.” 

The distaste on the angel's face twisted in Dean's mind like a knife to the gut. He wasn't sure if that distaste was for Castiel himself, or the fact that an angel had chosen a mud monkey over his own kind. Either way he looked at it, it didn't sit well with Dean.

“And you're the asshat in charge.” He shrugged, infusing the gesture with an equal amount of unimpressed distain.

The angel's distaste deepened to a scowl. “There is no need to be churlish,” he snarled.

“Oh, I don't know,” Dean replied. “You show up here uninvited – with an army. What am I supposed to think about that?”

“That you are blessed by our holy presence?”

Dean laughed. “Buddy, I've seen more than a few angels in my time, and none of them – except for Cas, of course – have ever made me feel especially blessed. You're usually here to use me as your whipping boy, or to demand something of me. So, _blessed?_ Not so much. Pissed off? Definitely. I thought I was done with you lot. Time served, Apocalypse averted, yadda yadda yadda. So kindly explain what it is you want, and I'll tell you 'no' just like I always do. Then you and your pals can flutter your holy asses back to Heaven and leave us the Hell alone.”

A collective gasp rippled its way through the assembled host. Apparently, the butt-ugly angel was some kind of a bigwig upstairs. _A bigwig bully,_ Dean thought. _One that needs a little reminder that he serves God, and is not himself a deity._

“You presume much, human,” the angel said. “You would do well to remember your place.”

“My place is at Cas's side. You have a problem with that? Or maybe your beef is with Cas? In which case, your beef is with me. We're a package deal, you might say.”

“Frankly, I don't understand what Castiel sees in you.”

“No offence, buddy, but you ain't much to look at yourself. You could stand to lose a few pounds.”

“This is a vessel. What _I_ encompass, you could not begin to fathom.”

“Multi-dimensional wavelength. Blinding white light.” Dean shrugged. “Halo. Wings. Blah, blah, blah. Been there, married that.”

“Then you should know to show me some respect.” One moment the angel was in front of him, the next he was standing behind, holding Dean in a chokehold, the tip of a sword pressed just below the hunter's jaw.

“I've heard that line before too – from a better man than you. How about you earn that respect?” Dean elbowed the vessel's soft paunch and simultaneously ground his heel on a sneaker-clad foot. As the angel recoiled in surprise, the hunter neatly reversed their positions, until the angel was the one with an arm twisted behind him and a blade held to his throat.

“Now,” Dean growled, “I'll ask you one last time: why are you here?”

“I was sent by God.”

“Uh-huh. And what exactly were Chuck's orders?”

Before the angel could reply to the question, a sharp cry of “Dean!” drew all eyes to Bobby's house. Sam and Castiel stood wedged in the doorway. So close was their fit in the wooden frame, and so tight their grip on one another, it was unclear who was holding who back. Dean was more than half convinced that the struggle would result in both man and angel toppling out on the porch and rolling down the stairs – and the last thing he wanted was for either of them to leave the safety of the wards.

The brief moment of distraction this drama provided was all it took for Dean's captive to twist free and reclaim his sword. The angel's face was livid with fury. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the flash of light that flared in his eyes was clear indication that he was about to get his smite on.

“No!” Sam screamed, at the same time that Castiel cried, “No, Satael! Let him go!”

“Why should I?” Satael snarled. “Clearly, he's more trouble than he's worth.”

“I can give you Crowley,” Castiel said.


End file.
